Tempest(5)

“Mr. Matthews!” Opening the teak-edged door, she handed him a glass of champagne. “Won’t you come in and join us? Where is Lord Raveneau?”

“Walking Alice in the fresh air.”

“Alice?” Her brow puckered, then smoothed prettily. “Oh, yes. The Labrador! I do hope she is yacht-trained, so to speak. Mother would be terribly unhappy if Alice damaged any of the antique carpets.”

Byron decided not to make any assurances he couldn’t prove. The dog was thirteen, a great age for her breed, and anything was possible. “Alice has a history of unwavering dependability, and our innkeeper trusts her enough to allow her to share Adam’s lodgings.”

“Innkeeper?” she repeated in surprise. “I assumed that you were staying in a private home.”

“We could have, but Adam refused. He prefers the Whitehorse Tavern to a palatial summer cottage.”

“Have you and Lord Raveneau been friends a long time, Mr. Matthews?”

He nodded. “Several years. We’ve shared many adventures and we understand each other very well.” He gave her what he hoped was a meaningful glance. “My friend is at a cross-roads in his life.”

Suddenly, Catherine stopped minding that Adam was off with his elderly dog. “A cross-roads? Now you have piqued my interest. What do you mean?” She nudged Elysia, who obediently wandered off. “Why don’t we sit down?”

He followed her to the afterdeck, which featured an aviary of exotic birds, and a grouping of rocking chairs set among potted palms. Overhead, the sky was clear azure. Newport harbor glittered in the sunlight, set off by the green foliage of nearby Rose Island. Without even tasting his champagne, Byron felt euphoric. “You lead a charmed life, Miss Parrish.”

A cloud seemed to pass over her face. “Perhaps it may seem so to you, sir, but not to me.” She touched the band of lace at her neckline. “My life is not my own.”

“Your parents have named their yacht the Free Spirit. Doesn’t that speak to their philosophy of life?”

She gave a short laugh. “Would that it did. It refers to my brother who drowned at sea four years ago. Stephen was only twenty-one. He is free now and I am imprisoned more securely than ever.” Looking into Byron’s eyes, Catherine added, “I told these things to Lord Raveneau last night. He seemed to understand immediately.”

“Did he?” His heart beat faster. “I can imagine that he might. He regards the traditions and responsibilities that attend even moderate wealth as burdens.”

A steward appeared with a tray of hors d’oeurves and they accepted plates which were then set aside. Catherine leaned closer, studying Byron intently. “I have confided a great deal to his lordship about my own situation but it wasn’t until this morning that I realized how little I know of his. I don’t think that’s quite fair, do you?”

He drank from his fresh goblet of champagne. “Adam guards his privacy.”

“I mean no harm, Mr. Matthews.” The breeze loosened a light brown tendril from the mass of hair pinned up, Gibson-Girl-style, atop her head. “I am merely curious to know where Lord Raveneau comes from, and why he makes light of his title. He’s very different from the noblemen I met in England— and there must be a reason!”

“Adam’s a renegade, descended from French pirates. His great-grandfather, Andre Raveneau, was a privateer captain during our Revolutionary War, and later settled in Connecticut to raise his family. He built ships and traded with the West Indies, and his son, Nathan, wound up buying an old sugar cane plantation on Barbados. It’s called Tempest Hall.”

“How romantic!”

“Yes, quite true... the Raveneaus are a romantic lot.” The warm sun, the fine champagne, and Catherine’s encouraging smile kept his story flowing. “Nathan married a beautiful spitfire called Adrienne Beauvisage and they had a son called Robert. He was educated in England and, after he married, became a don at Oxford. Robert and Arabella had one child— Adam. He’s been a real fire-eater since birth, a throwback to the wildest Raveneaus. Growing up, he visited Barbados often, staying with his grandparents at Tempest Hall. He has told me that he always felt more at home in the West Indies than England.”

Catherine was wide-eyed with fascination, trying to keep all the characters straight as the story unfolded. “I haven’t heard a word yet about the family title!”

“Well... that’s a rather recent development.” He cleared his throat. “Robert and Arabella Raveneau owned a magnificent estate in Kent. To make a long story short, both Adam’s parents have died, and in recent years Adam decided that Thorn Manor was wasted on him. He donated the estate for use as an orphanage, which filled a great need for the neighboring villages. Just months before her death, Queen Victoria rewarded Adam for his generosity by making him a viscount.”

“That’s because he’s proved his nobility through selfless deeds.” Her eyes shone. “It’s all so much more exciting than my... confining existence.”

A steward appeared to pour more champagne. “Miss Parrish, I have been asked by Mrs. Parrish to inform you that luncheon will be served in ten minutes.”

Around the corner of the glass-walled saloon, Adam Raveneau lounged against the rail and watched. His eyes narrowed with a mixture of suspicion and humor as Catherine leaned toward Byron, hanging on his every word.

“Alice, my love,” he murmured to the dog, “what do you think Byron is plotting? Has he designs on the fair Cathy?”

Guests were wandering downstairs to the mahogany-paneled dining room. Many wore faintly disdainful glances as they passed Alice and she greeted each stranger with a hopeful pink-tongued smile. When no one stopped to pet her, Adam’s lean hand moved down to stroke her ears, slowly.

His attention was on Catherine Parrish, who looked quite different to him by daylight, out of costume. She wasn’t beautiful by any means, but there was something about her that he found beguiling. Her face was rounded, not elegantly sculpted, and she had a little snub nose. In contrast, her eyes were very large, announcing her every emotion. Her rather unruly brown hair was starting to come loose from its tortoiseshell pins. Finally, Cathy’s form was delicately petite rather than womanly, with a waist he could have fit his hands around. She needed more curves to fill out the priceless lace of her blouse.

What were they talking about? Why was she gazing at Byron that way? Adam moved closer, until he and Alice were positioned behind a cluster of potted palms, near enough to catch bits of the conversation.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more romantic tale,” Catherine was saying. She tipped up her goblet to finish the last drops. “To think that Lord Raveneau gave up his family estate so that orphans might have a better life! My mother should hear that story; it might teach her that one cannot always judge a person by first impressions!”

“Certainly not,” Byron agreed gravely. “Shall we toast to Adam’s sterling character/”

She clinked her empty glass against his, watched him drink, and frowned. “We should have kept the bottle. That’s what his lordship did last night.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. I drank out of it, just like a lady pirate. I vow, it’s so romantic to think that he really means to live on Barbados— and that the family estate has been waiting for him ever since his grandmother’s death. It must be a spectacular place!”

“Tempest Hall?” Byron repeated, looking doubtful. “It’s historic; nearly three centuries old!”

Unable to remain silent a moment longer, Adam sauntered over and tapped Byron’s shoulder. “I do hate to interrupt, and I know it’s a bore to challenge your highly entertaining tale of my life, but you have left out all the disreputable bits.”

Catherine suddenly began to glow. “I think you are modest. You don’t want people to know how noble you’ve been, giving your estate to the orphans...”

“You’ve been reading too much Dickens, Miss Parrish.” He paced in front of their rocking chairs while Alice sat down beside Byron and rested her chin on his knee. “And, my good friend Matthews has whitewashed my character, though I can’t imagine why!” Adam sent him a dark glare. “The truth is that I am riddled with defects, not the least of which is a fondness for gambling. I was so deeply in debt that I couldn’t afford to keep up Thorn Manor any longer. It only became an orphanage because I didn’t want it to fall into the hands of my equally disreputable creditors. Do you still find my circumstances romantic, Miss Parrish?”

She wanted, more than anything, to hear him call her ‘Cathy’ again. “I don’t deserve to be treated so harshly, my lord.”

“And that title is just more gammon! The queen was old and nonsensical and she took pity on me when she realized that I’d lost everything my parents worked for. I think she thought I might be able to snare a rich wife if I had a title.” Now Adam stopped, turned, and gave Catherine a piercing stare. “It’s really all I have in the world, besides Alice, and she means a lot more. So you see, I’m a destitute libertine with a trivial title that’s less than a decade old.” He sketched a mocking bow and added, “Hardly dashing or romantic. Shouldn’t even be here.”